


Coping Mechanisms

by lovebashed



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Minor panic attack, Pre-Canon, Puppy Love, because stiles is ten, mentions of illness, tagged this as derek/stiles but it's really gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebashed/pseuds/lovebashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after losing his family to the fire, Derek meets the Sheriff's young son at the hospital. They help each other cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Sheriff & Derek dynamic a lot, so there's a lot of that in here. Also, I totally just made up Derek's age because we still don't know how old he really is.  
> As always, thank you so much Mony for the great beta!  
> I hope whoever reads this will enjoy it.

When Derek was eight and Laura was nine they got stuck in a lightning storm in the middle of the forest. It had been stifling for days, the air stuffy and hot and hard to breathe. Every inhaled breath felt like a monumental effort, like you had to constantly think about breathing, to force the air in, and his mother had sat them all down one evening and explained to them that this is a lot like what it feels like to have a flu. 

When the heat finally broke --and it happened within seconds-- strokes of lightning hit the trees and released sparks in the air, heavy clouds rumbled in the sky.

Derek hadn't been afraid back then, he'd laughed and felt alive in the storm. Adrenaline had run through his body for a long time after he and Laura were already back inside the house, making his skin feel like it was crawling with ants.

When he closes his eyes now, all he can see is flames. The trees in the forest alight, flames lapping up the walls of his home, blackening wood until everything is ashes, flames engulfing and burning and destroying everyone inside.

So he keeps his eyes open, looks at Laura instead. Laura next to him on the hospital bed that Melissa McCall had offered them to rest in, her breaths coming out in quiet huffs, her lashes fluttering on her cheeks.

The machine that helps uncle Peter breathe on the other bed burrs with steady intervals, but the beeps from the heart monitor are raw and shrilly and _too loud_ in his ears. The room’s starting to feel hot and small and too full of _everything_. The smell of charred skin almost makes him gag.

January rains have been beating against the hospital windows for days now and buffering the ground, melting dirt into mud. The rumbling wind sounds like thunder to Derek’s ears, and his skin is still crawling with ants, but not from the incredible giddiness of an eight year old caught in a lightning storm with his big sister, this time from dread and pain instead.

Laura opens her eyes when Derek gets up from the bed, a red tint around her pupils, and that's a subject they haven't even began to approach yet.

"Derek?"

"I just need some air," Derek explains. His throat feels raw and his voice is gravelly; it hurts when he swallows.

"Don't go far," she says, not a command but the red in her eyes still deepens, and he nods, fumbling his way out of the room.

The hallway is too bright for someone that's mostly been living in a darkened hospital room for weeks now, and it takes a while to adjust. He blinks against the white light, rubbing grit from his eyes. 

He locates a vending machine and stares blankly at the thirty different kind of chocolate bars, trying to remember the last time he ate. His belly is hollow, and there's no hunger but he ends up with one of each bar for Laura. If she plans to spend the night with Peter again, she'll need it. The bars are heavy and clumsy in his arms, but he just couldn't pick a couple, not ready to make any decisions yet. Laura's the Alpha; surely she should be the one making all the decisions now, however inane. And yeah, _okay_ , she is. Derek tries to breathe through the nausea that hits him when he thinks about the doctors explaining to Laura their options if it starts looking like Peter won't wake up.

"Derek?" The voice startles him, and he looks to his right where Sheriff Stilinski is leaning against the reception desk in his leisure clothes, worry lines around his eyes making him look ten years older. "I was wondering if I'd see you here today."

"Mr Stilinski," Derek says, shuffling the chocolate bars in his arms. A Milky Way slips over the slope of his forearm and plummets to the floor.

"Let me get that for you," the Sheriff says and walks up to him, leaning down to grab the chocolate bar with stiff motions, like he's been sitting in an uncomfortable position for hours.

"Thanks," Derek says as the Sheriff places the bar back on top of Derek's pile with a small smile. He studies Derek quietly, taking in his worn appearance, his pale eyes calculating.

"Couldn't choose, huh?" He nods at the pile of candy. "I know the feeling. Stiles -- uh, that's my son -- he sometimes gets this utterly defeated look when we've been spending a lot of time here, and I don't think all the candy in the world could get him out of that mood, but it's always worth a try anyway."

Derek struggles for something to say, caught off guard by the Sheriff's over-sharing. He wonders why the Sheriff's been cooped up here on a Saturday, but thinks he already knows. The distinct smell of sorrow, and a bit of second-hand illness are wafting from the Sheriff, although mostly he just reeks of worry. Whatever the reason, it can’t be good.

"They're for Laura," Derek says slowly, nodding at the candy. "I can't remember which ones she likes."

The Sheriff nods, reaching out to squeeze Derek's shoulder before he can pull away. "You're a good kid, Derek, taking care of your sister. I hope you remember to take care of yourself, too."

"We take care of each other," Derek corrects him, and the Sheriff raises his hands in defense while his eyes are still sparkling, and Derek realizes his voice had come out louder and colder than he'd meant. His chest feels tight, and he realizes the Sheriff's sorrow is mingling with his own. "Sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Hey, it's okay. I chose my words wrong." The Sheriff just shrugs, raking his fingers through his thin hair.

"I -- should go back to Laura and my uncle," Derek motions at the open doorway to Peter's room with a jerk of his head.

"Right, right. How is your uncle doing? Any change?"

Derek's eyes drop to the floor again. "No change."

The Sheriff sighs, shaking his head. "I'll let you and Laura know as soon as we find out more about your case."

"Thank you," Derek says and turns to leave.

"Hey, Derek," the Sheriff stops him again, stepping closer. "I'm sorry to bother you but, by any chance, have you seen my son around? He's about this tall--" he lifts his hand chest-high. "He's wearing flannel, I think, hell, he’s always wearing flannel. His hair’s just recently shorn. He's usually a bit hyperactive, but he's been really subdued today. I seem to have misplaced him and we should really be leaving soon."

"I haven't seen him," Derek says, genuinely sorry that he can’t be of any help.

"Damn, well, if you see him--"

"I'll let him know that you're looking for him," Derek finishes, attempting a small smile, pleased when it doesn't come out completely forced this time.

He dumps the candy bars on the bed next to Laura who’s sitting on the edge of the mattress now, staring at Peter with a blank expression.

"I think I'm going out tonight," she says, turning to look up at Derek. "But I want you to stay here with him. I know we've gone out together most nights, but I have a feeling our presence is helping him. Until the healing kicks in, I think from now on someone should always be here with him."

Dread pools in Derek's stomach. He knows what she's implying, knows she isn't going out just to stretch her bed-stiff muscles. For the past two weeks they've gone out to hunt for Kate, trying to catch her before she leaves town for good.

"Don't go alone, Laura. She's dangerous."

"So am I," Laura says with a voice to be reckoned with. "I need to find Argent, I need to make her pay for what she's done. I'm the Alpha now, which means catching her is my responsibility."

"At least let me come with you. She's my mistake, I want -- I _need_ to be there when we catch her."

"Derek," Laura says softly, pulling Derek close. "I know you're blaming yourself for what happened, but I don't want you to," she murmurs, running her fingers through Derek's hair.

Derek pushes her away, snarling, "How could I not blame myself? I brought her into our home, into our lives! I'm the reason she knows where we live and what we are!"

"Okay, yeah, you messed up, but she manipulated you. _All of us_ ," Laura raises her voice, grabbing Derek's hand into hers and holding tight when he tries to pull away. "If none of us realized what she was capable of, how could you have?"

The words feel empty and meaningless, false even though he knows she’s speaking from the heart, can hear the truth in her words, and he knows whatever Laura will say to him won't make the weight of his guilt any lighter. "Can you please just promise me that if you find her, you won't do anything without me? Send me a message or something, just let me know. I deserve to be there."

"I'll let you know," Laura accedes, giving his hand a squeeze.

Derek watches her stuff two of the candy bars into her jacket pocket before exiting the room. He focuses on her heartbeat and her scent as they grow fainter with each of her steps. When he can't sense her anymore, he goes to sit next to Peter where he is forced to take in the gruesome sight that he's been trying to avoid for the past couple of weeks.

The smell of charred skin is even worse up close. At least Peter's wrapped up in gauze from head to toe so Derek doesn't have to look at his damaged face, but his mind can still draw a clear enough picture.

He lets his nail elongate and prick into his forearm, watching the small cut heal as soon as the nail leaves his skin. _Why isn't Peter healing?_ Laura had said that he would, she'd been so sure about it. It'd just take a long time, she'd said, since the damage was so severe.

He wants to believe her, but seeing Peter like this, he can't help but wonder if she really knows what she's talking about.

An ear-splitting rumble in the sky lets him know the storm is still blaring. He tries to think about the rain lashing against his face and the smell of the forest right after a storm, but when he closes his eyes all he can sense is smoke and the acrid smell of fear. He thinks about his mom trapped in the basement with the fire surrounding her. His breath escapes him, and the pressure on his chest grows even heavier. He realizes his hands are shaking as he digs the heels of his clammy palms into his eyes, feeling sweaty all over. 

It takes a lot of effort, but he manages to draw in a couple of shaky, labored breaths as he staggers out of Peter's room. It's bad enough when he's there with Laura, but Derek can't bear to be alone in that room, not when Laura isn't there to keep him grounded.

He stumbles to the nearest row of chairs in the hallway and slumps down in the one next to Peter's room, leaning his head in his hands, gasping for air.

"You gotta breathe through it," a voice sounds somewhere close. Derek looks around, startled, but the hallway is empty; the weekend rush of visitors has already quieted.

"Down here," the voice continues, and Derek leans down to look under the row of chairs on the opposite wall.

"Hi, dude, are you alright? I think you're having a panic attack." A small boy in a red flannel shirt and sweatpants is staring at him with curious eyes. He looks about ten years old and reeks of grief and that same lingering trace of illness he'd spotted on the Sheriff, like vomit and old sweat, and Derek knows he's found the Sheriff's son. "Do you want to try breathing into my bag of Skittles? Or does it have to be a paper bag, do you know?"

"What?" Derek asks, dumbfounded, blinking at the kid.

"Paper bag? Panic attack? Don't you watch TV?" The kid says, exasperated, waving his near-empty bag of Skittles around and then shakes his head, looking proudly at Derek. "Never mind, I think I startled you out of it, you're not breathing funny anymore."

"What are you doing down there? Your dad's looking for you," Derek says, his teeth on edge, annoyed that this kid's been out here hiding for who knows how long, while his father's looking for him.

"How do you know my dad? Did he sound really mad? I just needed to be alone for a bit, y'know, to process things," he explains as he shimmies out from under the chairs. "I'm Stiles, by the way," he adds when he’s upright, extending his hand for Derek to shake.

Derek stares at Stiles’ hand for a while, hesitating before he slowly covers it with his. "Derek," he says while Stiles really goes for the handshake with full force, making Derek's whole arm jiggle. "He didn't sound angry at you, just really worried."

That seems to upset Stiles more than the thought of the Sheriff being angry. Derek watches as Stiles slumps down in a chair and nods, running a hand down his face. "Lately I've been having that effect on him. I just -- it's hard to see my mom like that every day and not feel like my whole world is ending. And then I need to be alone because it gets so overwhelming, you know?"

And _yes_ , Derek knows. Most of the time he needs to be close to Laura, to seek comfort in his big sister, but being alone in the crisp night air where he can run so fast that his lungs are burning is sometimes even better. It doesn't always work, but sometimes he can almost make himself forget.

Stiles is looking at him calculatingly, like he's putting together something. He glances at the open doorway to Peter's room and then back at Derek, his heartbeat speeding up as he jumps from his chair, almost bringing down the whole row of chairs as his ankle gets stuck in the arm of the one he'd been perching on, and crashes on the one next to Derek.

"You're Derek _Hale_! You're the one whose family got -- damn," Stiles trails off, looking almost pained. "I don't even know what to say to that other than I'm really, really sorry, which sounds really lame, I _know_ , but seriously, so, so sorry."

Derek looks down at his knees, focusing on breathing. If this kid knows about the fire then what the hell else does he know? "Did your father tell you about the fire?"

Stiles huffs, shaking his head. "Everyone knows. It's not like it's something that people can just ignore. But no, Dad doesn't tell me anything, that's why I have to look at his papers when he's passed out."

Derek raises his eyebrows and Stiles gives him a challenging look.

"You look at confidential police reports?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Duh. How else am I supposed to know the haps' in this town?"

"That’s... a good point," Derek says. He should probably be annoyed at Stiles possibly looking at information about his family, but the police knows only what he and Laura have told them, which is nothing he should be concerned about Stiles finding out. "You're pretty clever for what, a ten year old?"

"It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage," Stiles quotes cheekily, and Derek doesn't know whether to laugh at this kid or just be really disturbed.

It's hard to figure Stiles out. He carries an air of grief around him but it doesn't engulf him, it's just a constant presence. And Stiles can joke around and laugh at things and be honest in these little bursts of joy, but at the same time he doesn’t seem to lose that darker side to him, that worry and sadness that comes off him in waves and dims the light in his eyes.

"You spend a lot of time here, don't you?" Derek murmurs, and he can hear the lurch in Stiles' heartbeats as he becomes somber again.

"It's not all bad, though," Stiles says, looking intently at Derek like he needs Derek to understand that. "All the nurses here are really nice and Scott's usually here after school anyway, since his mom works here… you know Melissa?"

Derek nods, remembering the frizzy-haired woman who sneaks him and Laura hospital food on plastic trays and lets them crash on the empty bed in Peter's room even after visiting hours are over.

"Yeah, so it works out pretty well. The weekends suck though. Everything just feels so much more real in the weekends."

"Do you want to talk about your mom?" Derek asks. He doesn't really want to know, doesn't think listening to this kid talking about his sick mother will really improve his mood, but maybe it'll help Stiles process things better if he voices them out.

Stiles stares at the white wall for a while, his eyes filling up with tears. He draws in a couple of quick, shallow breaths and stuffs his fingers between his knees. The flood of sorrow that fills up the space around Stiles makes the air stuffy like before a storm.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Stiles asks quietly, shuffling closer. Derek leans in with a heavy heart and Stiles bites his lip before he murmurs, "I think my mom’s going to die." He pulls back and sniffles a little, burying his face in his fists for a second to wipe away the wetness from his eyes.

Derek's heart sinks, not just at Stiles' revelation but at the utter conviction behind those words, Stiles' heart beating steady all through the sentence.

"You can't know that," Derek says tightly, but the words sound empty even to him, and Stiles is now shaking his head and smiling wetly at him, and it's the saddest smile Derek thinks he’s ever seen.

"You're right, I can't know that, but I'm pretty sure. My dad keeps saying that she'll pull through, but I don't think even he believes it anymore."

Derek never has the right words, and Stiles probably wouldn't want to hear them right now anyway, so he confesses thinking the same about his uncle, even though Laura seems convinced that he'll get better.

Stiles nods, glancing over Derek’s shoulder at Peter's darkened room. "Why aren't you in there keeping him company?" Stiles prods, searching Derek's eyes. "Same as me? Got to be too much, right?"

"I just – just didn’t feel like it,” Derek says and Stiles gives him a disbelieving look.

“Uh huh. Wanna try that again?”

Derek sighs, leaning his head in his hands. “I guess I just don't want to be in the same room with him when my sister isn't here," he admits, pulling away to look at Stiles, surprised at what he sees in his eyes. 

Stiles has obviously gone through a lot himself, more than anyone in his age should, but he still manages to look concerned for Derek even though they’ve only just met. 

"I start thinking about the fire when I’m alone with him. It's all I can think about." He wonders why it's so much easier to admit these thoughts to Stiles when he can't even bring himself to tell Laura the real reason behind him always following her out the room when she leaves to talk to the nurses. He doesn't really talk about his feelings with anyone; never knows how to express them in the right way, but Stiles had told him about his mother, telling Stiles about Peter is the least Derek can do in return. And he realizes that sharing his pain with this kid has helped alleviate some of the heavy pressure in his chest.

Stiles considers him for a while, staring with his huge, wet eyes before he asks, "Would it help if I came in with you?” He gives Derek a hopeful look.

Derek just blinks at Stiles, feeling a bit helpless. It doesn't matter though, because he gave the Sheriff his word about sending Stiles to him if he happened across him. And Derek's already kept Stiles here too long. "Stiles, no, you need to go find your dad. He said he was leaving soon."

"Yeah, because he has to go to the station for the evening. He’s still just learning to be the Sheriff and he has a lot of papers to go through. I'm supposed to be spending the night at Scott's. I can go find Dad and tell him I'm sleeping here instead, I mean, I've done it before, it's not a problem."

"Stiles, I don't know--"

"If I ask Dad, will you let me stay in your room? Please? I don't want to be so far away from mom when she's had such a rough day, not tonight, I--"

Derek sighs, digging his nails into his palms. He’s picking up on the distress building in Stiles, Stiles’ sudden panic getting to him. _No ten year old should be so sad_ , he thinks as he watches Stiles trying hard to keep himself together, his eyes pleading Derek to let him stay. And Derek realizes Stiles isn't offering to stay with Derek for Derek's benefit so much as his own. Derek’s not that much of a dick to refuse Stiles this small request.

"Fine, okay, go find your dad," he says. Stiles gives him a grateful look and then hurries down the hallway, disappearing behind a corner. 

Derek sits back in the chair and wonders what he just got himself into. Stiles seems harmless enough though, just a broken little kid. And okay, maybe this little human could provide a distraction from the atrocious sight waiting in Peter's room, and maybe, just maybe they could both help each other out tonight. He amuses himself with picturing the look on Laura's face when she meets Stiles, and then hopes that she's keeping safe wherever she is tonight.

After a few minutes, Stiles comes back with the Sheriff holding him around his shoulders. He gives Derek a thumbs up and flashes a small grin.

"I get to stay," he exclaims, breaking free from his father's grip.

"Well, hold on, kid, let me talk to Derek first," the Sheriff says, sounding weary and exhausted. Derek doesn’t understand how he's supposed to work the graveyard shift tonight.

"Listen, Stiles has a habit of twisting things around in his head to fit his own purposes. He seems to be under the impression that you've offered to look after him for the night if he sleeps here."

"There's no twisting around, sir," Derek says, getting up from the chair to stand eye-level with the Sheriff. Then he turns to Stiles, taking in his hopeful expression. "Only, I was under the impression that you'd be looking after me, remember? I never agreed to babysit," he says to the kid, feeling proud of the dumbfounded look on Stiles’ face.

The Sheriff laughs out loud while Stiles rocks on the balls of his feet looking like he's struggling between beaming at Derek and glaring at him for the babysitting comment.

"I see." The Sheriff chuckles fondly, smiling at his son. "In that case, I don't know if I have any other choice but to agree."

Stiles rolls his eyes, emoting with his whole body, "Dad, I don't see how this is any different to all the other nights I've spent here while you've been at work. All the nurses know me and adore me. Besides, what's a safer place to be than a hospital?"

"Oh, I'm not worried about you, it's Derek that I'm more concerned about. You're a handful -- two handfuls -- and you know it."

"It'll be okay," Derek says softly, "I grew up with brothers and sisters that I know could have given Stiles a run for his money."

The Sheriff looks at Derek with understanding, and the sudden wave of compassion coming off the man is almost too much.

The Sheriff gives a small nod and leans down to scoop Stiles in for a tight hug. "Try not to wreak too much havoc, alright?"

"Dad, seriously, you're making it sound like I'm a gremlin or something. It'll be fine, I promise." 

"Alright, alright. I'll pick you up in the morning and we'll go for pancakes at that place you like, yeah? I think it might be best if you stayed with Derek for the whole night, though. I know your mother loves having you around but she really needs all the rest she can get, so let her sleep tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Stiles says gravely and draws in a heavy breath. "I promise I'll be good."

"I know you will be. I'll call Scott and Melissa from the station and let them know you won't be coming over tonight," the Sheriff adds and then says his goodbyes. Derek nods at him awkwardly and then he and Stiles watch him leave.

"So…" Stiles trails off, looking up at Derek with questioning eyes. "Shall we?" he motions at the room with a jerk of his head and Derek knows there's nothing else to do now but to go face his demons.

Stiles enters the room and turns to Derek who's still standing in the doorway, letting out an exasperated sigh. He rolls his eyes and sticks out his hand, raising his brows.

"I'm not holding your hand," Derek says, horrified. He takes a few calming breaths and then walks in past Stiles all the way to Peter's bedside. He keeps his eyes on his uncle while he listens to Stiles' movements behind him. Stiles is shuffling around, sneakers squeaking against the floor when he almost trips over a wire but manages to find his balance before the wire disconnects from one of Peter's machines.

"Sorry, sorry," Stiles says sheepishly as he leans down to check that all the wires are still plugged in, heart beating like a snare. "My bad."

Derek's starting to wonder whether having this fumbling ball of clumsy energy near Peter was such a good idea. But he has to admit that even though Stiles' presence doesn't calm him down like Laura's does, his nervous energy has managed to distract Derek from the terror that always hits him when he really looks at Peter. 

"So, this is your uncle, huh?"

"Yes," Derek says, his whole body strung tight.

"When is he gonna get out of all that gauze?"

"I don't know. When he's better."

"...When will that be?" Stiles asks and then backtracks when Derek snarls at him. "Right, right, you don't know. I'm sorry, I've never seen a burn victim before, I didn't know what it'd be like."

"I know he looks pretty gruesome. He was trapped in the basement when--" Derek swallows hard, his stomach churning. 

The last time he'd been with Kate he'd whispered to her that he loved her. She had cooed and stroked his hair and called him sweetie, and just days later taken all that love and trust and spit it at his face. 

And then burned his whole family alive. 

He'd asked his mother once if he were a monster. All the monsters in books and movies had sharp claws and fangs and eyes that were inhuman, just like his, and he’d needed to know. She'd grabbed his shoulders tightly and told him there were no real monsters in life. But she had been wrong. There are monsters. They just look nothing like the ones in the stories.

Derek starts when he feels a small hand gripping his fingers, Stiles' whole body radiating warmth and understanding.

"Man, hospitals suck. Do you maybe wanna get out of here?" Stiles asks, and it sounds like such an absurd suggestion that it startles a laugh from Derek.

"I think I'm gonna be fine, but thanks."

"You sure? Because I don't even know him and I'm starting to feel pretty grossed out."

Derek stares at Stiles, trying to figure out exactly what he wants. "You want to go sit in the hallway? After all that?"

"Nah, it's okay, I think I'm just gonna… go sit on the other bed, if that's okay?"

"Go ahead," Derek says, nodding at the chocolate bars, "Eat the chocolate if you're hungry."

Stiles gives him a grateful look and grabs a Butterfinger, then climbs on the bed and struggles with the blanket for a while, getting comfortable.

Derek slumps down in a chair between the two beds and presses his head in his hands, assessing the situation, feeling himself out. There's that familiar sense of terror and heartache for his family, and uncontrollable anger at himself and the Argents. There's also worry for Laura, out there on her own. He knows she's dangerous, now more than ever, but she's pretty much the only family he has left, and if he loses her too, he’ll probably go mad.

He tries to focus on breathing right, so that he doesn't start hyperventilating in front of a ten-year old for the second time this evening. He just wants to lose himself in memories of his family, but everything's still too raw and fresh, and even the happy memories taste like ashes in his mouth.

A loud munching penetrates his thoughts, and he turns his concentration on Stiles, listening to the kid wolfing down the chocolate with a serious appetite that Derek envies. Stiles' heartbeat is slow and steady and his scent is strong enough to almost quell the awful smell wafting from Peter's side of the room. Stiles is so utterly human, so alive and so loud with his emotions that Derek should be irked by him, but there's also something very comforting in Stiles' presence that has Derek longing for his company.

"What happens to you and your sister now?" Stiles asks after a while, and Derek picks up his head to gaze up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, do you have to go live with someone or?"

"I turned eighteen a few months ago, Laura's of age, too. They're not putting us in a foster home if that's what you're asking."

"Oh," Stiles says, looking down at the half-eaten Butterfinger in his lap. "If you need a place to crash though, we have a pretty comfy couch and an even comfier lounge chair that I swear will get your eyes drooping as soon as you sit down in it."

"Stiles," Derek trails off, looking at him disbelievingly. He's taken aback by Stiles' kindness, until he realizes that Stiles is just a sad, lonely kid who's trying to cope with his mother's illness. Derek probably provides the same kind of distraction to Stiles that Stiles is currently providing him. "I… thank you. I'll keep that in mind," he amends, because it's what he thinks Stiles wants to hear.

He and Laura have been talking about leaving town to go live with some distant relatives in New York that Derek can only remember meeting once before but who had offered them a place to stay after hearing about the fire. They’d leave as soon as there's some change in Peter's condition, for better or worse. Maybe Peter dying would be a kinder fate, but he's feeling selfish and hoping that Laura’s right and Peter will recover enough for the healing to kick in.

“Just something to consider," Stiles says with a shrug of his shoulders as he reaches out to grab a Mr. Goodbar from the pool of the blanket between his legs, starting to destroy the wrapper.

Laura returns in the dead of night empty-handed and reeking of anger. Her hair is hanging in wet clumps over her shoulders and the sleeves of her jacket are clinging to her arms. She stops dead in her tracks when she spots Stiles on the bed, cocooned in the blanket and snuffling in his sleep.

"Derek, what --?"

"Hi Laura, I made a new friend," Derek drawls out, glancing at Stiles with tired amusement. "How was your night?"

Laura eyes Stiles for a while with a frown and then sits on the bed next to his legs, pushing empty wrappers on the floor. "Disappointing, but I guess you already knew that."

"No trail?"

Laura glances at Stiles, probably listening to his heartbeats to make sure he's really asleep. "It's like she's vanished into thin air," she whispers, frowning at her hands in her lap. "I spotted Chris at the gas station but I couldn't sense a trace of Kate on him. I think it's safe to assume she left town on the night of the fire. We would have found her already if she was still here."

Derek keeps his eyes on Stiles, frowning when he moans in distress. "I promise you Kate won’t get away with this." He turns to look at Laura, covering the knot of her fingers with his hands. "I don't care how long it takes, but she's going to pay for her crimes."

Laura heaves a sigh, blinking away the wetness from her eyes. "We'll make her pay," she hisses, and her eyes gleam red in the dark.

Stiles kicks his leg out of the blanket and sniffles into the pillow, and Derek wonders what he's dreaming about.

"Who is he, Derek? Why is he here?"

"His name is Stiles. He's the Sheriff's kid. His mom's in the hospital, and he asked if he could stay here for the night while his father's at work. I was sort of glad for his company, so I said yes. I just, I couldn't refuse him. He thinks his mom is dying."

"I can smell her on him. I think he's right," Laura says, tugging Stiles' leg back inside the blanket and smoothing out the wrinkles.

Derek nods. When Stiles fell asleep he wandered around the wards for a while, stopping to stand by the doorway to Stiles' mother's room, just needing to know what was wrong with her. Stiles' scent had still lingered around the room after hours of being away, strong and easy to identify.

"He's strong-spirited, I know whatever happens, he'll pull through." Derek needs to believe his own words, needs to believe that people can survive from even the most monumental losses in their lives. As if on cue, Stiles relaxes in his sleep, his heartbeat slowing down as he rolls onto his side and huffs out a breath. 

Laura has a soft look on her face when she grabs Derek's arm and tugs him up, trying to push him to lie next to Stiles on the bed. 

“Laura, what?”

“Just lie down, you need to sleep too,” she says, pushing harder.

“No.”

“No?” Laura raises her brows and Derek gives her a challenging look.

“The chair is fine,” he says, and Laura tsks as she starts frog marching Derek around the bed on the empty side where Derek knows they will both fit just fine.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you were on the bed,” she says and wrestles with Derek, trying to make him lose his balance. He gives as good as he gets, but when her fingers dig into his armpits, Derek takes it as his cue to give up.

“Wait. Fine, _fine_ ,” he hisses, yanking away from her and tugging down his rucked up shirt. He gives Laura a dirty look before crawling next to Stiles on the bed, careful not to jostle the bed too much to wake him. She shoots him a winning smile in return, and then walks to their small bag of spare clothes that they bought from a Costco after the fire, just needing to get _something_ to wear without it taking too much of an effort, and removes her wet jacket and pants and pulls on a pair of pajama bottoms before going back to the bed. 

Derek feels Stiles shift a little when Laura climbs in to lie in the small space still vacant next to Derek. Derek wraps his arm around Laura's shoulders as she curls up to his side, and tries to relax. Stiles' eyes creak open and Derek freezes, watching Stiles studying him with a sleepy frown for a while, like he’s sizing him up or something. Derek feels ridiculous, but he can't help the soft sigh that escapes him when Stiles’ brows smoothen and he presses close to Derek’s other side, burying his face in Derek's arm.

He can sense Laura's amusement, but this is the first time since the fire he has felt comfortable enough to sleep, so he doesn't try to push them away. The storm seems to be letting up, too, and the soft sound of rain against the windows is making his eyes heavy with sleep. _Maybe Laura was onto something_ , he thinks before sleep takes over.

He sleeps the whole night through, only waking when the Sheriff shakes him awake, an amused expression on his face. Derek turns to look at Stiles who's drooling on his shirt and then quickly sits up, bringing Stiles who's clutching his whole arm tightly to his chest up with him.

"Good morning," the Sheriff says with a grin while Derek tries to unwrap Stiles from his arm. He doesn't understand how Stiles can be sleeping through this. He looks around and finds Laura quietly cracking up on the chair next to Peter's bed.

"Morning, sir," Derek says, shaking his arm. Stiles jiggles with the motion and clutches at him tighter. "Any idea how to get him to let go?"

The Sheriff chuckles and walks to Stiles' side of the bed, scooping him up in his arms and sitting him up on the bed by Derek's feet, shaking him awake.

"Hey, kiddo, you awake yet?"

"Ugh, starting to wake up," Stiles groans, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "So early."

"No, you've just missed too much sleep. Looks like you caught up on some of it last night, though."

"They both did," Laura comments, and Stiles blinks at her curiously like he's seeing her for the first time.

"Looks like it worked out well then," the Sheriff says, smiling at Derek, and Derek rubs the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed and not really knowing why. "We better get going though, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about those pancakes ever since I brought them up last night."

"Okay," Stiles says, shuffling down from the bed. He has pillow streaks on his cheek and grit in his eyes, and he smells stale when he grabs Derek by the neck to give him a hug, ignoring the way Derek’s whole back stiffens and just hugging him through it. "I hope things work out with your uncle," he whispers, and only lets go after Derek’s given him a few clumsy pats on the back.

"Same with your mom," Derek stutters out when Stiles pulls back, then watches as Stiles' neck and cheeks burn red when Laura pulls him in for a tight hug and thanks him for looking after Derek while she was gone. 

"It was my pleasure," Stiles mumbles and Derek's pleased that he's not the only one seemingly embarrassed here.

"I'll see you later today, right?" Stiles asks while he's shrugging into a hoodie that the Sheriff handed him. "When I come back to see my mom, you'll be here?"

"I -- I'll be here," Derek says, watching Stiles perk up at his words before waving goodbye and walking out the door with his father.

"Derek, just. Thank you," the Sheriff says by the doorway. "I think Stiles just needed a break."

"I think we both did," Derek says, and the Sheriff nods before leaving Derek and Laura alone with Peter once again.

"Dude, that was like the sweetest thing that's ever happened to you," Laura exclaims, and Derek glares at her, trying to extract himself from the blanket that's wound around his leg.

"Shut up," he snarls, yanking at the blanket. "I told you this was for his benefit."

"It only makes it that much sweeter," Laura grins, going to help Derek free from the blanket. "Don't even deny it, you know I'm right."

"Whatever," Derek says, standing up and stretching his sleep-stiff muscles and popping his joints. He glances at Peter and doesn't feel completely horrified at what he sees. It's still just his uncle under all that gauze.

"Yeah, whatever," Laura smirks and tries to ruffle Derek's hair but he jerks his head away before she can reach him. She juts out her lip and Derek rolls his eyes, watching her bend down to gather some of the candy wrappers from the floor. "Just don't get too attached," she continues, dumping the cheerfully colored wrappers in the trashcan next to the door. "I want us to start preparing to leave town as soon as possible. Now that I know Argent is gone, I don't want to have to spend more time here than what’s absolutely necessary. Everywhere I go, all I see is ghosts."

"Do you think we can leave uncle Peter here all alone?" Derek asks, hearing the same guilt in his voice that he’s seeing in her eyes.

"I talked to the doctors while you were still sleeping, if he makes through the worst of it, they think it'll be months before he’ll start waking up. His body needs the rest to heal. We'll come back when he wakes up, okay?” Laura gets a bit teary, and the familiar pressure starts bleeding back to Derek’s chest. “We need to be with pack, Derek. We need to be with family, it's the only way we can start to heal."

Derek knows she's right. He's been longing for their relatives in New York for days now, the longing only growing stronger the more he obsesses over it. "We'll leave as soon as we can," he finally agrees, and Laura gives him a relieved look when she pulls him down for a hug. He's so grateful for Laura; he doesn't think he could have made it through the first weeks after the fire without her. 

He breathes in her scent and smells Stiles on Laura's clothes. He hopes that when the time comes, Stiles and the Sheriff have someone like Laura to look after them. When he leans back from the hug, he spots Melissa McCall looming in the doorway with a tray full of toast and a jug of orange juice, and remembers Stiles talking about the McCalls like they’re family. He smiles at Melissa and motions her in, and knows that Melissa will be Stiles’ Laura, if his mother doesn't pull through.


End file.
